In the book you’ve been readingit’s the end of the season.The shades have been drawnin that house by the lake,
and a woman is standingalone on the porch.
My mother’s given up on her dreamof a brand new house. What’s wrongwith what we’ve got, my father doesn’tsay, exactly. “Go ahead” is what he says,
Those in the parlors reading the still stories, the slow stories Look out the window, then read, then look out slowly.
Herculasses, a feminine fauna.Naked as the crashing of barrels.Cooped up on top of trampled beds.